Shindig
by ohsoloverly
Summary: Escaped dates and eating tacos and silent pining. (And Christmas in June?) [Obviously, I do not own The Hunger Games, nor the characters in it.]


_**Escaped dates and eating tacos and silent pining.**_

 _ **(And Christmas in June?)**_

* * *

 ** _F_**

The phone buzzes in his jeans. Once, at first, and then a second time with another reminder. He takes a break from half-watching the game and cracking opened a beer with his buddies to glance at the incoming message. He frowns at the name that appears on the screen, and the furrow in his brow deepens when he sees what she's written.

 **I need you to come get me.**

Annie's on a date with someone named Andy or Anthony (or something). This Alex or Adrian (or something) was 'nice,' according to Madge and Katniss, and a 'stiff' according to Johanna (though, who trusted her view?). He's some random person Annie had met through an ecology course at Grad School.

 **Please?!**

Finn glances at the time- not even 9:30.

 _Well, shit._

She had told him that, if all went well, Arnie or Archer (or something) would be the one she'd bring to the Shindig– this weekend's Christmas dinner-slash-game-night which Mags, Finn's step-grandmother, and Annie's gran, Antonia, throw every year. The families have lived in the same neighborhood for forever, and Annie and Finn have more or less grown up together.

 _(He had ignored the twinge of jealousy, quashed it and reasoned it down to irritation that, for the first year since they were sixteen, he'd be the only one without a date to the Shindig– and Albert or Ashton or something wasn't even a local. He was probably from like North Dakota or something._

 _Finn'd bet he didn't even know how to swim.)_

Gloss yells at the screen, Brutus cracking up as the ring pictured on the screen erupts with opposing players ready to rip each other apart in light of the call. Finn glances up distractedly, before typing out a quick reply.

 _u ok?_

The response is immediate.

 **Peachy.**

His lips quirk.

 _ok.._

 _so i need to get u bcuz...?_

Finn knows she wouldn't be texting him if everything was fine, but he wants to make sure she's not just overreacting.

She is, though, because Finn receives eight messages, barely blinking an eye before they arrive in rapt succession.

 **I just**

 **Finn I'm on the date ok and**

 **He just**

 **He says he doesn't like DOGS?!**

 **WHAT KIND OF SICK BASTARD**

 **DOESN'T**

 **I JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND?**

 **HELP ME**

Finn chokes down a laugh, glancing up to see his buddies haven't even noticed.

 **PLEASE?! I'm BEGGING you.**

 _maybe hes allergic lmao_

 **Do you think this is some kind of joke? I do not joke about dogs!**

 _idk this game is rly good_

 **HOCKEY IS NOT MORE IMPORTANT THAN ME!**

 _hdu anakin hockey_ _= lyfe._

 **Corner of W Park and NY, FIONA.**

Finn shakes his head, standing and grabbing his jacket from beside the door.

"You're bailing?" Gloss tilts his head to one side.

"Yeah-"

"Who's that on the phone?" Brutus's smirk belies his next line of questioning, and Finn just pulls his coat on.

"Later."

They seem more amused than anything, and Finn slips out without having to give specifics. Not that he can't, of course, but- well, why hadn't he? He chalks it up to protectiveness.

He finds the place, an Italian joint with classic covers of Christmas music filtering out from external speakers. Annie stands out in the cold, her breath misting clouds in the air, her arms wrapping her black coat around her. Her feet are on skyscraper-high heels, legs in thin, black tights. Tucked under one arm is what looks like a takeout box. Her hair is curled, makeup complete with smokey eye. Finn feels his smile grow, as she leans down, grinning at him as he pops the door opened from the inside.

"Come here often?" she rasps in an unnaturally husky tone.

"Only for you." Finn waggles his brows, turning the heat up as she crawls into the passenger's seat. "So, Italian?"

"Full course, nice and expensive."

"And he fucked it all up, huh?"

Annie shrugs, before popping the takeout box opened. "At least I got a cannoli."

It's no normal cannoli– it's huge, and filled with the most luxurious-looking, chocolate-chip-laced filling, thick layers of powdered sugar atop the whole thing. Finn nods, a solemn understanding between them, before they burst out laughing.

"But, um, first… Taco Bell?" Annie needles, closing the box and reclining the seat back the way she prefers. "We sort of only got to appetizers before _The Thing."_

"Taco Bell, a-go-go." he salutes, pulling out of his spot and into the nightmare that was Christmas-weekend traffic.

The quiet hum of Finn's radio plays, just barely distinct over the sound of the heat blasting out of the dashboard. Annie is quiet, popping the cover of the takeout container opened and closed. Stopped at a red light, Finn glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She's staring out at the street, passing car lights reflecting off her eyes. Frost frames the windows, lacy vines that are slowly melting across the glass. The light turns green, and some ass behind them honks, startling them both.

Finn drives a little further, turning into the Taco Bell drive through– Saturday at midnight drawing the queue out to the entry.

"What if he _was_ just allergic?" Annie muses abruptly, looking out the side window.

Finn shrugs. She sighs, and he thinks she might say more. Instead, it's just the music talking.

They crawl forward, at a snail's pace, and Annie finally clears her throat once Finn's placed both of their orders.

"I don't have a date now," she says, soft but still uncomfortably forced.

Finn glances at her, their eyes meeting for just a second before darting away.

He shrugs, uneasy. "Who really needs a date?"

Annie throws her head back, hand flying to her chest. She laughs until tears form, and she can't speak. When she finally regains her breath, she looks him straight in the eye, a cynical tinge to the smirk on her lips.

"You literally are the worst person to say that."

"Huh?"

"You have had dates for the Shindig since we were _fourteen_."

"Sixteen," he protests.

She glares and he sighs.

"Look, would it make you feel better if you had a date who _also_ didn't have a date?"

Annie narrows her eyes, before the expression smoothes out, eyes wide in understanding. She holds her hand out.

"You have a deal, partner."

They shake on it, before gobbling down the Taco Bell in stride.

 _(And Finn has to say, wherever Aldean or Aaron or something is, he's grateful to him for fucking up that date.)_

* * *

 ** _A_**

Freezing tiles of the tiny bathroom have her scampering on tip-toes. Her fuzzy, short romper (the easiest thing to throw on at 2 am) hardly does any favors in the chilly-for-the-Four-coast morning. The air conditioning ought to have been taken into consideration. She's lived here her whole life, despite those four years away. She should know better. Never mind that she would take this any day to the four years she spent shoveling her car out in Cambridge.

Nor'easters: _[noun]_ demonic storms, straight out of whatever the term for hell would be… if it were ice and sleet, instead of fire and brimstone.

(Non-technical, editorial definition.)

"Too early to be this cold," she grumbles to the ceiling. Hands brace the space between chilled porcelain and bare skin.

Shouldn't be this cold in the _south_ , of all places.

Perhaps Mother Nature's on a vacation. Replaced with a random nobody who had no idea how the weather was supposed to feel in Georgia, at this time of year.

Then, Mother Nature isn't responsible for the central air pouring out cold, even as frost dusts the ground outside. That's all on the landlord. Or Annie's roommate, perhaps- who is always hot, and lowering the thermostat to frigid levels.

Washing her hands, Annie dares a peek up at herself in the mirror. It's a horrid life choice. Eyeshadow and eyeliner from last night, having not been properly removed, have melted about her eyes in a frightening spectacle. Apparently, she has also stuck her finger in a socket. That is the only explanation for her hair's terrifying girth.

All for a cannoli. Oh, plus wine. Loved the wine. Merlot. And the calamari, that had been decent- though, of course, no one will ever make it like Nonnino Cresta did, _riposare in pace._

Scrubbing the lingering proof of the hookup-that-never-was, Annie's mind replays her night with Finn.

Taco Bell. She remembers the tacos. Those seriously hit the spot. After their tacos were gone, and the cannoli was a distant memory, they dropped Finn's car off outside his apartment before heading over to Kraft. They had gotten some drinks, then- rather, Annie drank; Finn had barely sipped a single beer. She shouldn't blame him, even if they had walked rather than driven. He would've lost that game of darts, and she would've heard about it the whole walk home. The chilly walk hadn't been too bad, what with the alcohol warming her and Finn chattering the whole time about his victory at darts.

He hates losing.

They'd gotten into fights as tweens, over her beating him at Mario Kart. Epitome of a sore loser, but it's unfair that anyone could manage to still look pretty while pouting. Even when they're discussing if they should coordinate for their Shindig date-thing, and how, and Annie says she already has an outfit that's purple and he'll just have to deal with it.

He pouted less about the color, and more that she hadn't waited for him, which had caused an awkward pause that Annie'll choose to see as a consequence of the evening's confusion. She'd been planning to ask Alex, but, well, good riddance to that… dog-hater.

A defeated sigh exhales from deep within, as Annie dries her face and promptly buries it in the now-makeup-stained towel.

Finn's my date. _Finn's_ my date. Finn's _my_ date. Finn's my _date_. Finn is my _mother-heffer-in'_ date.

She's tempted to scream.

 _It's just the family Shindig,_ she reminds herself. A glowing giggle lingers, still. She could smack herself for the goofy smile her reflection is wearing.

No one needs to know that she's liked Finn since she was six, and he was eight, and he snuck into her second-floor bedroom window of the two-family house, interrupting her homework with 'candy'- Grandma Mags's can of Tums, sneaked out from the medicine cabinet. They'd eaten them up, goblin-like and greedy, as if they were delicious _(they tasted gross and chalky)_ and Finn and Annie were the cleverest of sneaks _(they weren't, Mags had watched Finn's master-theft)_ and vowed each other to silence about the matter. They'd both gotten in trouble, regardless of their tightly sealed lips.

No one needs to know that when she started at the middle school, Finn was so excited to see her in the halls that he'd tripped over his own shoelaces, his notes and papers flying everywhere causing them both to be late to sixth period. She had pretended to scold him and play indifferent. No one else was around to see, so it didn't matter, but she'd been blushing so hard, and it was undoubtedly one of the nicest feelings, because he was older if only by two years, and he was popular, and _it was just–_

"Stupid," she chides herself, wrangling her hair into a sloppy bun.

A similar thing happened in high school, only she was the single freshie on the girls' miniscule swim team, while he was team captain of the boys, with his statewide records in male sprints. She'd been so embarrassed that he flirted in front of everyone, that she'd rolled her eyes and in turn attempted to flirt with Finn's friend, Greg. He's the one that gleamed with so much tanning oil at their summer lifeguarding post that he'd long since accepted the nickname Gloss.

She thinks that Finn still thinks that she still thinks that Gloss is hot– even if everyone else knows she is beyond outside of Gloss's type.

And no one needs to know how when they were four and five, respectively, Finn and Annie's exceedingly loud declaration of love at the family summer bash was based on having earlier tied a string 'round one another's fingers, paraphrasing what they'd heard at Annie's Catholic cousin Beatrice's wedding– _'Donec mors nos ex parte,'_ as they giggled behind the garage.

 _(Because Latin made it sound cooler, though she doubts now they'd said it right, and they might just be going to hell for not getting Papal dispensation before impersonating any sort of religious authority.)_

Her phone vibrates against the hall's hardwood floor-beams, charging just outside the bathroom door. Feet soon creak the boards, knuckles rapping at the door.

"Dead in there?"

"Very," Annie replies flatly. She pulls the door opened, so swiftly even her normally unflappable roommate flinches.

"My, my, Cresta," Johanna places her hands on her hips, a smirk that can only spell trouble. "You and Adadblablah have a good time?"

"Nope," she pops the 'p' and pushes past her roommate, finding Todo lazing on the couch with his rawhide bone. "Right where I left you."

She presses a kiss to the shaggy dog's nose and he glares accusingly at her, shifting away. Todo is going on 15 _(they think),_ an old grouch with either the least-dog-like temperament, or the reincarnated mind of a 93-year-old retiree who just wants to nap, eat, and on occasion play chess.

Not that Todo plays chess.

He would prefer not to ever leave the couch- doesn't, if he can help it, except to relieve himself out in the yard. Annie had picked him out at the shelter when she was ten, after the Crestas had lost both their golden retrievers suddenly within a year of one another. Since Annie was the baby, and she had cried that she would do all the walks and work, she got to choose. Passing puppies and young dogs in favor of the shaggy old mutt with a mauled left ear, Annie fell in love with the mutt with a crooked tail, and a few missing teeth. No one seemed to know Todo's real backstory- he was just another stray dog, difficult to age because of his apparently rough life. Young Annie had swore up and down the grizzly thing was the dog for her. He has since survived the hours-long drive up to college, New England winters, three years of Annie and Johanna as roommates _during_ New England winters, a car ride with Annie and Johanna when they came back down to Georgia, and now a year and a half of them living here together. Considering Annie and Jo are oil and water, and their last screaming match resulted in their downstairs neighbor calling the cops to complain, the fact that the dog still sticks around speaks mainly to his liking the food they give him.

Annie still wouldn't trade him for the world. If it weren't for Jo and their landlord, she'd go out in a heartbeat to adopt twenty more just like him.

"The hell do you mean, 'nope'?" Johanna follows closely, unrelenting. Jo pinches her friend's arm, causing Annie to hop away from the pot of coffee she was about to make.

"Good morning to you, too, Jo."

"You were basically out all night."

"Two in the morning." Annie raises a brow. "You must be getting old."

 _Old_ is always a low blow. Jo is only a few months older than Annie herself, but due to funky in-state cut-off dates, graduated high school a year later than other kids her age. At university, this placed Jo in with students in some cases a whole year younger at university. It's a sore spot that had been exacerbated her senior year of college, when she'd found a grey hair, promptly shaving her head in vengeance.

"Don't change the subject-"

"You know, I thought you just liked the television loud, but hearing loss can come with being elderly. You should really get that checked-"

"Shut up." Johanna's means of surrender is to retreat to the living room, mumbling to herself all the while.

Rolling her eyes, Annie follows her, taking a deep breath.

"The date was awful," Annie explains, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her bowl of cereal. Todo leans his neck out to sniff at the Cheerios, causing Annie to nudge him back, to the dog's displeasure. "He said he doesn't like _dogs_."

She waits for a dramatic reaction, but Johanna gives Todo a hard look.

"I don't like dogs either."

Annie sticks her tongue out, scooping her Cheerios all into the center of the bowl. "Anyway. I texted Finn, he picked me up."

"Really," Johanna comments, flicking the television on and flipping through a series of Paid Programming. "Why didn't you text me?"

"I thought you would have Blight over."

Johanna gives a derisive snort, the television going blank. "No, you didn't."

"I thought he was coming this weekend-"

"No. You. Didn't. You. Idiot." Johanna's brown eyes bore into Annie's sea-green. "You just wanted Finn."

Annie's mouth hangs opened, and she stares at her roommate. "What?"

"Oh, don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like a puppy I caught eating my shoe. It's no deep dark secret you guys have eye-fucked for as long as I've known you- and don't think I miss what happens anytime you actually find someone you're interested in. You find some tiny flaw-"

" _You_ said Alex was boring!"

"And turn it around-"

"Jo, you're full of it! I think you're speaking about yourself, not me."

"Falser words have never been spoken." Johanna tosses the remote onto the coffee table. Todo whines, disgruntled, covering his face with one paw. Johanna stalks down the hall, pausing to point at Annie's phone as it buzzes. "Boyfriend, or reject?"

"Oh, shut up," Annie retorts, stomping to her phone and picking it up.

Sure enough, it's a text from Finn about tomorrow night.

 **is this ok?**

Attached is a picture of him with a purple dress shirt, not too tight but perfectly fitted, the arms cuffed so his lower arms are visible.

Annie licks her lips, a flutter in her stomach. A lump simultaneously forms in her throat, and she approaches her roommate's door anxiously. It's been left ajar, which in Jo-speak means, _'I won't kill you.'_

"Jo…" she begins, peeking around the corner. Johanna's naked, and trying on a series of outfits. "I really wasn't trying to fuck up the date, and I would have texted you if I didn't honestly think that you were busy."

Jo meets Annie's eyes for a second, unimpressed, before she promptly turns her music on to blast.

Lacking the energy to deal with this right now, Annie heads back to her breakfast. After again shooing Todo from her cereal, she plops down to the living room rug, trying to think of how to respond to Finn.

 _Perfect! Jo is being weird about …_

She begins to type, then deletes it; tries rephrasing, subsequently deleting that one as well. She bites her lip, holding her phone up against her chest until it vibrates twice.

 **anakin?**

 **u ok?**

Annie closes her eyes, counting to ten before sending anything back.

 _👍 Looks good, Fiona._

 **thx**

She considers typing more after Finn's brief response, but instead puts her phone to the side. She stuffs her mouth with cereal, eventually washing it down with coffee, distractedly finding the weather channel. _"Cold, followed by less cold, followed by I'm-not-sure."_ She can hear Johanna bring her music into the bathroom. The pipes rattle as the tub's tap is flipped on.

This is going to be a long morning, she thinks, as her phone vibrates, this time with a different number.

"We have a problem," Annie announces, as she slides into Finn's parked car.

"Huh?" Finn slides his sunglasses up over his head, and it should look like just another douchebag trying to look posh, but _god, is there anything this guy can't pull off?_

Annie shoves her phone into Finn's face, and his eyes gradually widen.

"You told Az?"

"Yes," Annie replies sharply, taking her phone back and shoving it into her back pocket. "I told my dearest, favoritest sister-in-law-"

 _"Only_ sister-in-law-"

"That you were going to be my date, considering she and Mags wanted to know for foodage, and, now…"

"She thinks we're dating?"

"Yep." Annie pops the 'p.'

Finn leans his head back, staring at the ceiling of his car. Annie covers her face with her hands.

"This is a disaster, I shouldn't have gone with vague, but I just didn't want them to know I'm a loser who can't get a real date."

There's an awkward silence. She expects some clever quip, a joke or a chuckle, but none comes. Finn simply sighs, restarting the engine.

"They're going to just bug us about dating, for the millionth time, tell that story about us in your backyard, and we'll play it off like always."

He glances at her, catching her eye and giving a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Annie, it's fine, we'll clear it up tomorrow."

Annie's fingers dig into the fabric of her coat, but she manages a tentative nod. They need to get together a dessert to bring with them to the Shindig. Finn's partial to ice cream (less work, never mind that lord knows he shouldn't be left unsupervised in the kitchen), but Annie wants to make Nonnino's white peach tart. Won't taste the same, she's not a great baker herself, but it's easier than other Cresta staples.

"Burger King?" Finn asks, as he pulls out of the spot.

Annie breathes a sigh of relief. "Ohmygod, please."

After all, it's not good to grocery shop on an empty stomach.

* * *

 ** _F_**

"Be right back!"

This is her sixth trip back into the apartment. Not that he's counting.

He is, though.

He should make a chart. She likes charts.

First, it had been Annie's peach pie, carried down the stairs out to the running car, lovingly placed in the trunk with Finn's sloppily-wrapped presents bracing the pie into a safe-zone. The whipped cream followed _(god forbid he talk her into the pre-made)_. But, of course, she couldn't carry both the whipped cream _and_ her Zia Betty's poinsettias for fear of dropping them both. Even after the plant was secured, Annie still needed to go back upstairs for her bag of presents for the other Odairs. Finn had offered to come with, but she'd urged him to stay in the car, and with the presents, he thought that would be that. Only, she hadn't finished. Her contact lens case didn't have solution in it, which needed to be rectified immediately. Finally, _finally,_ when he'd pulled out of his parking space, she had yelled out, because her phone was on borrowed time and no, _no one else_ has the right-sized charger even with the twenty other guests who will be at the house!

He would have laughed, if it were funny, but he is beginning to think that there's more to this than Annie's normally-charming eclecticism.

Johanna texts him. He hesitates opening it.

 **ur gf is nuts**

 **Y she keep coming back**

 **she said bye 2 me 5 times**

 _not my gf_

 **i though u were on date w/ her**

The texts just keep coming. Finn rolls his eyes.

 **y r u not dating**

 **is a date**

 **ur matching fkin outfits**

 **i seen it**

 **did u show her ur penis**

 _jfc jo NO_

 **told u shes scared of them right**

 _also_

 _NOT A DATE_

 **ok Fuck Buddy**

 **wanna b FB**

 _ _jo🖕__

 **👁 FB**

 **dont shoot th msngr**

 ** _…_**

Seeing Jo is about to reply, having had enough, Finn blocks Jo's number. He turns his phone to Airplane Mode, putting it in his dashboard cup holder. He can hear Jo's voice in his head, asking why he doesn't just ask Annie out on a date- a real one, not a 'rescue' operation that ends with a dart game and a cold walk home from the bar and ultimately nothing for either of them.

Finn is not sure when Jo became aware of _Finn-and-Annie,_ or Finn liking Annie, but Jo's been bugging him, for over a year now. Teasing, when it comes from Jo, is the closest they'll ever get as far as 'helpful' relationship advice. She mostly just comes off as eviscerating any pretense Finn has at _just being childhood friends._

 _Can we really go out on a date?_ His own internal voice sounds about twelve, and he chastises himself.

Annie won't tell what she's really thinking, he's sure. And, if he were honest with himself, he would admit he's too afraid to hear her opinion on the matter of him as a potential _hookup-date-boyfriend- **whatever**_. She's a panicker- not in all situations, but in many; especially the serious ones, the ones where the unexpected comes about, scaring her shitless of what change could mean.

When her nonnino passed, the summer before she started high school, she'd been beside herself. She had locked herself in her bedroom, refused to go to the wake or funeral. She ended up staying in the room for most of the rest of the summer, until she gradually learned to cope. Finn could get her to open up the door, get her to talk. Eventually it had been enough that she'd started coming out, started living again.

She'd panicked before a major swim-meet, too- she was a sophomore, but the only one who was any good at long distance, and she refused to leave the locker room until her sister-in-law, Aisling, talked Annie out. Then, junior year, Annie had such a bad anxiety attack before the SAT's she had called Finn's college dorm and he managed to talk her off the ledge, though she still ended up needing to retake them. By the redo-SATs, she was on medication.

Her senior year of college, her favorite activity had been to Skype him while she was revising for her finals, doing shots each time she got a question wrong because she said it took the edge off of the, "self-induced sense of utter failure." Finn took a shot each time he mispronounced a word while asking her the review questions. Because of her courses, there were more words he couldn't pronounce than the ones he could. While unhealthy, she was twenty-two, and he was twenty-four, and they were both young and dumb enough to think it was hilarious.

Annie doesn't cope well with stress. Finn isn't much better. They have their coping mechanisms, sure, but how can _Finn_ be the one to help Annie not be stressed about this, when it's _Finn-and-Annie_ that are the potential stressor? So, why would he? ask?

If he brings _it-them-this_ up now, if he brings everything that's been held back… well, that would be one way to fuck Christmas up for sure.

He's not a 'real' date- and that? It stings. Not because of her- he knows what she meant. Only he's fifty percent mess, fifty percent coward, and one hundred percent unable to get out of his own damn way.

 _(Daddy issues,_ Jo would probably say. _Daddy_ ** _and_ **_mommy issues!_ )

Finn leans back, taking a steadying breath, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The exhaust plumes up behind as he's watching it in the rearview mirror. They haven't got too far to go. Even if they're late, the Crestas and Odairs won't be surprised, considering Finn's the driver. He's around the block from Annie, still renting at a cheap rate from his godfather, and the Shindig will be held just a fifteen-minute drive from here, at Mags' house. It's not a matter of distance. Finn's always had a problem more so with _timing_. A problem in that he is shit at it.

She's opening up her bag as she comes down the steps. He pops the door opened from the inside. She slides in, barely looking up as she tucks her charger inside her purse. Her hair is straightened, this time, and she's put in bobby pins with shiny white pearls on them. She's wearing the earrings with jingle bells Pop bought her when they were still in junior high- tradition, though it doesn't really match the un-Christmas-like purple that they both agreed on. He should've at least worn a Christmas tie, but there is nothing he can do about that now.

"Oh, wait-!"

"Nope."

"Finn, I forgot-"

"Nope," he repeats, locking the doors and easing down the street.

"But I need-"

"No you don't."

He rolls his eyes while she sticks her tongue out. He doesn't ask the real reason she's eager to procrastinate, and she isn't about to offer. Still, it lingers, the awkward itch he _hasn't/can't/won't_ scratch.

"If my pie gets damaged…" she has a teasing tone, but there's a warning there, and Annie's temper isn't something to trifle with.

Finn slows at a red light, putting his left turn signal on. She drives like an old lady, but says he drives recklessly; she's had four accidents in the past five years, he's one in ten, but she has said that is only because he has never dealt with Massachusetts's drivers in the winter.

"I mean it, Fiona."

He opens his mouth, and there's a retort, somewhere, though it can't quite surface. So, he smashes his finger against the radio, turning it on. Silence isn't preferable, he doesn't mind her teasing even, but he can't seem to think straight. She starts humming along, and they're halfway there when a family decides to jaywalk in front of them… particularly slowly.

"I hope you're glad this'll be the first time I'm late _ever."_

"Oh-ho. I'm not taking the fall for this, Anakin."

"It's not my fault I couldn't carry everything at once!"

There's a sparkle in her eye, when he glances at her. He almost wants to keep arguing, except he doesn't want to pretend that there's nothing more, nothing less. Easing onto the gas, Finn finally arrives on Oak Circle, finding the only available spot five houses down from Mags. Annie is about to get out, but Finn stops her, taking her hand in his and immediately regretting it.

"Look, I think we should just play it cool, right?"

"Right…" she doesn't sound all right with it, and her head tilts to one side, seagreen eyes boring into him until he feels like a science project gone awry. "So, no sex in the bathroom?"

Her delivery is so dry that he actually snorts, and the suspicion in her eyes dissipates with lids crinkled by laughter.

"No kissing," she instructs. "On the lips, at least. That would be… weird."

"Way weird. Cheeks?" he counters, because this won't be convincing if they didn't at least kiss cheeks. There won't be enough time to work through any doubts- not tonight, at least. The Shindig isn't some quiet, sit-down dinner, it's chaos on wheels. "Cheeks aren't as… incesty."

Annie grimaces. "Cheeks are fine."

They've kissed each other's cheeks before, not that it really matters. _Because it's never going to happen,_ Finn reminds himself.

"Now," Finn clears his throat. "No grabbing my pecs."

"No grabbing my _boobs."_

Finn raises a hand to his chest, feigning offense. _"One_ time, I tell you."

"She _was_ all over you, too- but there was definite grabbage."

"Twister. Neutral grounds."

"Hah!" Annie clucks her tongue. "Ruling on the field stands."

"Fine. No grabbing my penis. Or biting my neck."

She scoffs at that, but he notices a blush creeping up. "You're making it sound like _I'm_ the handsey one around here."

Finn smirks. "Dunno, I seem to remember Brad Anderson-"

"For heaven's sake." she's burying her face in her hands before he finishes his thought. "I did not _grab his penis_ under the dinner table! You're delusional."

"Bet he wanted you to." Finn can't help chuckling at her embarrassment.

"In front of Mags and Mimi and Nonna?! I need to bleach my brain now, thanks a lot."

"There, there, Anakin." Finn pats her hair lovingly, stopping himself just short of brushing his fingers through it.

"We're filthy, aren't we?"

"Me? Yes. You? Work in progress."

"You _are_ rubbing off on me, though."

"Taken long enough."

She hums out a amused agreement.

"I've got bleach in my apartment," he offers with a bright grin.

She flicks his ear.

Finn shuts off the engine and gets out, grabbing the poinsettias and the whipped cream, one in each arm. Annie is grateful for the pie's safe delivery, and they leave the presents in the trunk. Az and Bo do presents after dessert, when it's nice and dark and there's a good fire going under the twenty-two personalized stockings.

"Ready?" he asks.

Annie shrugs, looking as anxious as Finn feels. He gives a reassuring smile, bumping her shoulder before they head for the gauntlet.

"As I'll ever be."

* * *

 ** _A_**

"Az keeps staring," Annie mutters. She is leaning in to Finn as if she is telling a secret, uneasy smile plastered to her lips as they walk away from the dining room buffet.

The Crestas and the Odairs aren't a quiet bunch, for sure. The dinner (cow)bell- from Mag's mother's father's father's uncle's farm- had been needed to call everyone to get food. Between the music, children yelling, and adults catching up on everything that's happened since Easter, muttering isn't a strict necessity. Finn plays right along, though, a charming grin followed by a laugh so convincing Annie herself would think she has just said something terribly funny, if she didn't know better. He squeezes her hand- hasn't let go of it, come to think of it, since they deposited their items in the kitchen for Aisling and Antonia and Mags to sort through. Annie is not about to complain, _(not with the way she feels a warmth in her chest that makes her nearly blush)_ but it makes holding a plate for appetizers, whilst standing and sipping liquid courage a bit of a challenge.

Indeed, Annie's sister-in-law is peeking at them from the open-concept kitchen's bar, watching them like a hawk, eyes finding them despite the multitude of bodies between there and here.

"Here's a spot." Finn tugs her towards the alcove in the dining room, thankfully less crowded. He sets his drink down on the corner table, taking Annie's once she offers it.

 _He's really getting into character._

"Wanna guess how much she's wagered?"

"On what?" Annie asks, looking up at Finn in confusion.

"On _us,_ who do you think?"

"Oy vay."

Annie cringes as she tosses her drink back. Best to mask the redness of her cheeks by cover of the alcohol, rather than embarrassment.

"I bet she's wondering about our _sleeping_ _arrangements."_ He waggles his brows suggestively. "If I've seduced you with my masculine charms yet."

Annie nearly spits out her wine, a choked-up drip of dark crimson rebelliously sliding out the corner of her mouth. His thumb nudges it away, cheeky grin still obnoxiously present. Annie's attempt to rebuff the motion falls flat, and she gulps down what's left in her glass, shaking her head.

"And we _won't_ be sharing." Not that there was anything to share, but- he's laughing, now, and she glares but there's no bite behind it. Her pulse rate ticks up faster now at the thought of _sleeping with Finn,_ producing a mixture of revulsion and lust that roils her stomach. "Please."

"No cover story?"

"Nope," she pops the 'p'.

Finishing their food, Finn stacks their plates and heads for the kitchen. Aisling has apparently coerced him into helping her set up the desserts. Annie lingers in their spot, dodging one of Finn's step-uncle's grandkids, Marley, who happens to be chasing after her sister with an inflatable bat. A sound of something crashing out on the patio makes them both look in that direction, wide-eyed, but it's just Zio Tony 'helping' bring in the setup for the (partially-impromptu) karaoke in the living room.

"Annie!" Aisling calls out over the ruckus, as Finn's Aunt Kerry taps the mike for the karaoke machine in the living room. "Come here!"

The strawberry parfait is all that's made its way onto the buffet table. Annie reluctantly makes her way in that direction, dreading Aisling playing a game of Twenty Questions. They are spared that, though, because after Az sets them to clear the table off, she has to go to comfort her little girl, Natalie, who's fallen and split her knee in the basement playing The Floor Is Lava. Aunt Kerry is making an announcement, yelling out this and that between sips of alcoholic eggnog, most of the adults and the kids (who aren't too hyped up in the basement) gravitating towards the room. Once the buffet table is emptied _(amidst cheers and toasts and Aunt Kerry's stirring rendition of Santa, Baby, accompanied by Annie's brother, Bo, on piano),_ Mags shoos Annie and Finn in the direction of the singing, rather than the dessert setup. Mom and Gran and Mags have it sorted, after all, but Annie makes sure to fill her glass. She might have gotten away with hand-holding but there's a distinctly _off_ feeling about the way they keep glancing at Finn and Annie. Cheek-kissing is likely to be needed in the near future.

Finn, leaning against the frame, easily tugs Annie over, arm wrapping around her waist. She considers smacking it away- can feel her face heating up, but goes rigid instead, keeps her eyes everywhere except on him.

"Hey!" Aisling hisses from behind. Annie jumps as she and Finn lets out a light chuckle, arm smoothing up the small of her back and _why does that feel nice jeez-_ "Look up!"

Annie does, and cringes at what she finds.

 _Mistletoe._

Swallowing over a lump in her throat, Finn's hand rubs her back, an easy smile on his lips.

"Would ya look at that," he comments, leaning in and tickling her ear with a soft murmur. "Don't worry, Anakin, we got this."

She nods numbly, a shaky smile accompanying goosebumps and _is that a camera Aisling's holding?_ as he leans in, wraps her in his arms and- _there you are_.

It's warm and soft and gentle, and her hands crawl up around his neck, the press of her chest against his and he smells _nice even delicious and-_

He pulls away and she feels almost dizzy, her lips leaning back for more before she snaps back to reality.

He isn't smiling. Not that charming, schmoozing, smug grin that oozes easy charisma. No, his expression is tense with dilated pupils, eyes locked on hers, his thumb smoothing a soft circle on her back.

"Fucking hell."

"That good, Anakin?"

She nods, mutely, the sounds slowly beginning to sink in. Aisling's camera snaps with a flash, and it's then Annie realizes the whistling and clapping and Aunt Kerry on the damned microphone, narrating what's going on under the mistletoe.

"Only took twenty years!"

"Again, again!" Zia Betty's daughter, Maria, is calling. Aunt Kerry begins to talk about their 'engagement' from back in their childhood.

Finn raises his brow in question. Annie nods, again, breathless and shaky and _who needs oxygen when a boy can kiss like that?_

(So much for cheeks only.)

"Don't worry, Fiona," she leans up on tiptoes to whisper in his ear in reassurance. "We got this."

* * *

 _ **thank you for reading xoxo**_


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